Stalking Her Prey
She didn't notice it, whenever she made the decision to watch him. But one day she caught herself, intently studying his spectacles hooked behind his ears, and realized what was happening. Ruby had never been a watcher—she was more used to being watched, stared at, ogled, whatever you want to call it. But Archie Hopper never did any of those things, and perhaps, Ruby considered, that was what intrigued her. He had a polite, kind tone, when he said the words "Thank you," after she'd pass him his coffee.
He came to the diner nearly every day, even on weekends, and by now she had memorized how he liked his coffee: two creams, and a dash of cinnamon. Ruby liked to think she could judge someone by how they took their coffee, and cinnamon suggested warmth. So did the way Archie's face crinkled up whenever he smiled at her. But he smiled like that at everyone, Ruby reasoned, it wasn't as if his sweetness was reserved just for her, as much as she'd like that.
Today, like every other day around 2:30 p.m.-Ruby wore a watch to keep track, because that damn clock tower across the street was stuck at a constant 8:15-Archie came in alone, and sat in his usual booth, only his umbrella to occupy the seat across from him. Ruby glanced out of the windows at the sky. In some sort of rare treat for Storybrooke, the sun was shining amidst a few white, relatively-innocent-looking clouds, but then again Ruby couldn't remember ever seeing Archie without his umbrella.
And she would know, wouldn't she? Ruby-turned-people-watcher. Or person-watcher. Particular-person-watcher was probably most accurate, if anyone was feeling picky.
"Hi Archie." She sidled to his table, wearing her usual red-lipped grin-lipstick re-applied promptly always at 2:25 p.m., for no reason at all, of course.
"Good afternoon, Ruby. How are you?"
She liked the low rasp of his voice, however unintentional it was. And she liked the way he looked at her face, too, instead of all the other bits she open and bare for looking.
"Oh, I'm all right." The usual small talk. "Coffee?"
"Of course." And then his smile widened, and so did Ruby's in return.
The coffee was fresh and hot, and smelled of cinnamon. Their hands met around the circumference of the white ceramic, although Ruby was careful their fingers didn't touch. Something would feel wrong about it, flirting with Archie Hopper like that. It was the way she flirted with every other man in Storybrooke, for a few extra dollars at the end of the night to make the rent and pay the bills.
Her gaze wandered outside again. Archie's dalmatian, whose name she'd learned was Pongo somewhere along the way, was tied up in front of the diner, leash wrapped around a fire hydrant. He seemed obedient, upright and alert, but not bothering anyone walking by.
"You can let Pongo inside, if you want." The words left Ruby's mouth before she took a moment to think about them. "Granny and I like dogs. We won't mind." Half a lie, then. They both liked-no, loved-dogs, even though they didn't own any, and Ruby certainly wouldn't mind Pongo's presence in the diner. Granny might, but that was a consequence to be dealt with later.
The fondness was evident in Archie's eyes as he looked through the window at his pet. "Ah, he'd probably chew up the furniture." He turned back to Ruby, and the fondness remained. "But thank you for the offer."
Ruby bit her lip, trying to think of something else to say, a reason to stay standing beside him and keep talking-for whatever reason, not that she had any idea. The idle thought occurred to her that she really liked him in the particular shade of navy blue-the color of the sweater vest he wore, but no, that would be silly to point out.
She was supposed to be good at talking to men, but Archie proved the exception. Whenever she thought of something to say, something witty, or something that mattered, it caught up in her throat like a vice around her neck, until she swallowed the words back down so that she could breathe again.
So instead Ruby brushed her fingernails along Archie's shoulder-light enough so he wouldn't notice, she hoped-as she walked back behind the counter, and waited for the day her nerves-her nerves, talking to Doctor Archie Hopper of all people-would decide to ebb. For now she would content herself with watching.